Effects
by Dfsemina
Summary: Going through the gallery was bound to have an effect on them, even after escaping.
1. Bunnies

A/N: This is my first real attempt at this. I hope it is okay. I plan for this to have multiple chapters centering around the changes going through the gallery may have caused in the characters' lives.

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

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Title: Bunnies

She used to love bunnies.

But now, returning to her room, stuffed toy rabbits everywhere, she couldn't help but feel apprehensive.

They looked so cute, so cuddly, so... _welcoming_.

But even then she could not bring herself to cross the threshold into the room.

_A room filled with bunnies. So cute. She wanted to pet them..._

She shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

_Garry, tense and uncomfortable. Mary calling him a weirdo, insisting they were cute. Voicing her agreement with Mary._

They were just harmless toys. Soft, comforting, adorable...but their black eyes seemed so _cold._

But that was impossible, wasn't it? They weren't real. _But neither was Mary._

_But she _was_ real, even when she wasn't. She moved, breathed, felt.._.hurt. _She hadn't been real but she still hurt. She'd tried to kill her. She'd tried to kill Garry._

She jumped, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye. But... no, just the shadow of a stuffed bunny shifting, growing, and shrinking with the light of a car passing by outside her window.

_Returning to the room. Garry, insane. Slapping him. Once. Twice. His eyes finally losing their glassy quality and awareness slowly seeping back in. Squeezing him tight. Whispering again and again inaudibly "Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Garry. Garry, no. Please. Please. Pretty please?"_

She put one foot through the door, keeping the other in the doorway. Flicking on the light switch she was sure for a second all of their eyes had glowed red. She brought her foot back to meet the other and contemplated sleeping on the couch.

_Garry trembling. Checking the room a final time. Reading through a book on the shelf a second time. **If your spirit suffers too much, you will soon start to hallucinate. And in the end you will be destroyed. And more worrying yet is that you will not even be conscious of that fact.** Replacing the book onto the shelf. Garry muttering "stupid dolls" as they left the room._

Glancing around the room warily, she flicked the lights back off.

_The toybox. Mary. Garry. Creepy dolls with red eyes everywhere. Mannequin heads. Headless statues. Running. Garry, rendered momentarily motionless from the sight of their smallest enemies, crying out, "Not those dolls again!"_

She shut the door and pulled out an extra blanket from the closet.

_Escaping. Resting next to Garry who was even more out of breath than she. Garry grumbling about the dolls again. Dolls... _Wait. _The room full of bunnies. Garry had called them dolls. There had been a book. Garry had explained what hallucinations were to her when she had asked. "Seeing things that weren't really there," he had said._

She looked down at her clothing. She was still in her day clothes. But she'd have to go back into her room to get her sleepwear.

_Realization. Tugging Garry along, bringing him back to the room. Him refusing to go near it. She had begged him to just come with her so she could peek inside. Not enter, just glance in. He had followed her reluctantly. Cracking the door open, her heart pounding and breaths short, she had peeked inside... And had seen it for what it was in the warped reality they were in. A room full of dolls. Dolls made of fabric so black it seemed like their bodies were made from darkness. Dolls with thick, sickly yellow hair. Dolls with red, glowing eyes and unnaturally wide smiles. Her dear bunnies had really been _these_?_

She sighed and shuffled over to the couch. Using the armrest as a makeshift pillow, she laid down and pulled the blanket over herself. She curled up uncomfortably, her clothes bunching up and the elastic of her skirt biting into her skin. She went to sleep.

* * *

The next morning she told her parents she was too old for dolls, especially bunnies.

She had felt guilty when her parents looked hurt at the idea of throwing away their gifts to her.

She had backpedaled. She'd insisted they donate them like she had seen on tv during the holiday season. They eventually relented to her demand.

Even with the guilt, she couldn't help the relief she felt as a person came and took the overflowing box of stuffed toys away.


	2. Security Blanket

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

Title: Security Blanket

She shouldn't be afraid of the dark. She never had been. Darkness didn't summon monsters. Darkness was natural. And Ib was unusually calm and collected for a child. Garry would, and has on many occasions, described her as brave.

But everything had started when the lights flickered before finally going out when she stood in front of the _Fabricated World _painting. She had realized that though monsters weren't summoned or created by darkness, they were definitely real. The lights going out and being wrenched along in an alternate universe was decidedly _unnatural_. She hadn't been calm and collected. She had been focused and determined which did little to negate the fear. She seemed calm because she could not even begin to comprehend how to react to the impossible predicament she had found herself in. She didn't think herself very brave, but if bravery was defined as acting to the best of your ability despite fear, she supposed she might be.

She shouldn't even think of stealing. It wasn't hers. She was mature for her age. Her parents had raised her well. She had a reputation for being well-behaved, honest.

But there was no way she would able to procure one on her own. If she was mature, then she supposed she was mature enough to handle the shiny object that others her age would not be trusted with. Her parents had been the ones to carelessly leave it out in the open. They wouldn't even miss it. They had others. While she had been taught to behave, she had also been taught to act smart. She knew it was useful, even essential. A child could only protect herself if she had the knowledge to differentiate between when good behavior is appropriate and when it could get her killed. That idea had been engraved into her when it had proved true in the gallery. She took the small object and slipped it into her pocket. Just in case. The worse things are always unexpected.

She shouldn't have a lighter. It was not a toy. It was dangerous. It was absolutely not for children.

But she had taken it and wouldn't even consider returning it. The fact that it was not a toy she had learned intimately when she had set Mary's painting on fire, destroying a life that was not a life forever. She would never forget the scorching heat from the flames as they stood not even a foot away from the blazing painting. The smoke had burned her eyes, bringing tears forth and making her choke‒though that may have been from watching a supposed friend die by her own hand. The bright, ever-shifting flames had blinded her even as they filled her field of vision and reflected upon her dark brown eyes. It was most definitely dangerous. As for not being for children, she agreed with that wholeheartedly.

However, holding the smooth, silver lighter in her hand she felt relieved. It was standard, nothing special. The same type as Garry's. But it was tangible, solid and real. And she knew how to use it. She knew _why _to use it. It had added a reassuring weight to her pocket and now, sitting in the palm of her hand, it gave her a sense of hope. A lighter had pulled her through one impossible crisis and she held the object in high regard. It would be useful in many situations but additionally, it would remind her that she was able to pull through the first one despite the odds.

She flicked it open, then shut. The click was satisfyingly familiar, abating any fears she still held at least for the moment. She flicked it open again. Holding it carefully with both hands, she used a thumb to spin the wheel and was caught transfixed as the flame appeared. It was bright, dispelling the darkness. It was warm, like Garry's hand as he walked with her throughout their ordeal. His had been the only warm hand there to comfort her. Though she hadn't realized it at the time, Mary's hand had been deathly cold. Most importantly, the flame was strong. Strong as she had needed to be. Strong as Garry needed her to be. As strong as she intended to be for the rest of her life. And though she held some uncertainty of being able to maintain this sort of strength, the lighter was all the reminder she would need to try.

A/N: Well friendlies, here's the second one. I had been trying to write this one and it just wouldn't come out. But I think I was able to articulate it well enough.

I just always thought there was more to the characters of Ib. Ib is my definite favorite though. I am working on two others currently that also do not want to come out. One of them is for Garry. I have a hard time writing for him. I always thought that after all they'd been through they'd need some sort of token to act as a security blanket, you know? Something to keep them grounded after all that insanity, perhaps? The lighter seemed like a great choice for Ib.

I hope someone is actually reading this (I am refering to both the story and this author's note.) and enjoying it as much as I enjoyed writing it. No pressure, but I would like to know what you think!

Thanks for your support!


	3. Pulse

Title: Pulse

Garry had not seen the doppelganger of himself or Ib's mother. But the sight had acutely affected the young girl. The fake Garry and mother had been identical to the originals. They had looked the same, acted the same. When she couldn't tell they were fake she very nearly ended up stuck in the gallery forever. Before she realized it, she had developed a habit. It was subtle and not noticeable at all unless someone was specifically looking for it. She made sure people were real each time she greeted them.

She knew from experience that inanimate objects could pretend to be real—pretend to be alive—convincingly. They could pull off emotion. They could make up stories of a human life. They could even fake breathing. But what they couldn't do was force the heart they didn't have to beat.

"Ib!"

She looked up at the sound of her name being called, smile automatically adorning her face. Then, imperceptibly, it wavered before returning. The smile remained, the quiet child's greeting to the young man, but it had lost warmth. Hopeful but uncertain, the smile remained as she came to a stop in front of the man. He grinned down at her, happily greeting her and inquiring about her day. He dropped to one knee and outstretched his arms. Instead, she grasped his right hand with hers and wrapped the fingers of her left hand against his wrist. With both hands she brought his hand up to caress her cheek.

_There. _Real. Tangible. The warmth from his hand was unmistakeable. His hand, like all real breathing human beings, was far from perfect as the false Garry's hands had been. She could feel the roughness of hard work, the little bump on his ring finger that had been made from resting his pencil against it when he sketched, and the frayed ends of his worn jacket that was impossible to imitate. She nuzzled his hand, feeling the loose strings from his jacket tickling her face. But most importantly, she could feel the soft pulse underneath her fingertips that still remained curled around his wrist. And she finally relaxed.

Finally, she moved closer to him, allowing him to envelop her in his arms. Even down on one knee he was taller. She was grateful for that. It put her in a position that strengthened her certainty that he was really, truly her Garry. Hands splayed out on his abdomen that radiated heat and ear pressed firmly against his chest. Here she couldn't just feel the heartbeat, she could hear it. As strong as she wanted Garry to remain. When Mary had stolen his rose, it had been reduced to a state so weak that it had been merely a soft, intermittent brush against her hand before he fell unconscious. Ib had been on her own until she had been able to retrieve it.

Ib had a reputation for being a strong and quiet girl. She liked it that way. While everyone she held dear had been a bit confused when she her little habit started, they just assumed it was another way she silently showed her affection. They thought it was normal, endearing. And besides, kids were always eccentric. She didn't want to let them see how weak she could be. She remembered how Garry had looked when she admitted that she had had a nightmare. He had looked surprised, pitying, and pained. Pained that he didn't—_couldn't_—help her. That he had overestimated her strength. It was the same look that she had received from her parents when she was forced to change schools after her father was transferred. She had always been compliant and understanding, ready to do what needed to be done. But that one time she had not been able to stop the tears that ran down her face as she thought of leaving her friends behind. It was obvious her parents had thought she would take it well. She didn't like to disappoint them, or anyone for that matter. She felt like she needed to be immovable.

She remembered how she had pulled Garry from the grips of insanity by pure willpower. By simply refusing to show that she was scared. _Acting_ strong was the only thing that enabled him to leave with her. But she wanted to _be _strong.

At the core of it all, however, she was still just a girl. She was still a child. Tiny and insecure. No matter how strong she was—regardless of the fact she wouldn't believe it—a child needs to be reassured. And she found this assurance in the rhythmic beat of a heart.

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A/N: Well friendlies, here's the third one. It was a doozy. But I'm proud of it! I always thought Ib was strong. She got through the first part of it just fine on her own. She seems like the type to take care of others. I mean, she led Garry through the gallery on her own! But as a human, and especially as a child, I thought she would need reassurance.


	4. Height

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

Title: Height

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Ib had never been bothered by her height before. At the age of nine, most children were about the same size. And adults seemed so separate from children. They were supposed to be bigger, smarter, stronger. They were the authoritative figures in life. They were meant to comfort children when needed.

Garry was good at comforting. He was strong, as he proved by moving the mannequins around. Being older, he definitely knew more than Ib, generally speaking. He was indisputably tall. Garry was an _adult._

While Ib was, of course, closer to her parents than any of her friends―with the exception of Garry, he was at least as close to her as they were―there was still that distance between them that came from the gap in age. The wedge that separated adult from child was perfectly in place.

Ib was okay with this. It was natural. It would make no sense for them to treat her like an adult. She appreciated and enjoyed their support. She was their child and their role was to be responsible for her.

However...

That gap between her and Garry did not seem to exist. Though many things were lost in translation due to their different ages and experiences, they did not feel the usual distinction between adult and child. They talked easily. They shared secrets, feelings, and thoughts. They were friends with the utmost trust in each other. For all their differences, they were of equal standing. They were in the same group; a group of their own.

This made sense. They had fought through the gallery together, an ordeal in which age did not have any influence in. Garry was stronger being the adult, but Ib more than made up for it with her ability to keep them both from going insane. He had a more extensive vocabulary, she had an eye for detail that stemmed from her natural curiosity. These traits seemed less like distinguishing characteristics to divide adult and child and more like natural strengths they had. They solved the endless puzzles and riddles together. They were more like partners than anything else. They were _not _separated.

Around Garry, Ib always felt like they were equals, friends, partners. They depended upon each other. They had a balance to their relationship that no one else seemed to have.

The only thing that occasionally bothered Ib about their relationship was height.

Whenever Ib needed comforting, whether it was just an off day or she had a nightmare, Garry would hold her. She liked that. She loved being small during these times. She could cuddle up to him, listen to his heartbeat. She could feel secure, curled up and surrounded by nothing but Garry.

But being small had its drawbacks.

They were partners. That meant they not only depended upon each other, they also provided mutual support. And sometimes, Ib felt like she couldn't do that. Guertena's gallery was horrific. Any sane person that went through it would have recurring nightmares or occasional bouts of unspeakable fear. Anyone would regress into the feelings of helplessness and confusion. Ib knew she did. She also knew that Garry did.

This was where her small stature left her frustrated. She would be there, to call his name and snap him out of his stupor. She would wrap her arms around him as tightly as she could. She would say anything that came into her head that sounded comforting. She knew it helped.

But she still knew what it felt like to be stuck in the past, in the terror. A tug on the arm, a shout, and a tiny girl's warm arms wrapping around the body were barely noticeable when surrounded by walls that seemed to be closing in. Her tiny body could not shield him from the world. She could not just wrap him up in herself and make him feel nothing but warmth. Her smallness made it impossible to provide him the comforting, isolated space that would allow him to regain his composure. All she could do was ride out the feeling with him. She could not comfort effectively.

All her efforts, though they amounted to some good, did not seem as if they were enough. To have the feeling of truly being free from the gallery, one had to be reassured by isolation. They needed to be so sure of their security that no doubt could penetrate their created space. They needed to create a spot of their own that had nothing but themselves and the warmth and air of comfort. They needed to feel _safe_. And safety correlated to the feeling of being protected. She could not do that for him.

But she still tried. When Garry found himself trapped in the memories, she would try to make herself bigger. She would try to give him that feeling of comfort. She'd tug him firmly until he was on his knees in front of her. She'd reach out, guiding his head to her stomach. Then she'd wrap one arm around him, enclosing his shoulders and neck. Her other hand she would keep occupied with rubbing his arm, sharing her warmth as much as she can. She would bend over him, not lying on top of his back, just looming over him, attempting to replicate the feeling of solitude. She tried to create the safe place that he always provided by holding her close and wrapping around her.

Though she hated being so small during these times she would always feel better by the end. When he would finally come to his senses, he would reciprocate the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and burrowing his head into her stomach. He'd choke out a word of apology followed by one of gratitude. The gratitude was so raw, so sharp, so intense, in his cracking voice that she always knew that she was doing something right.

So maybe her height was not enough to support him with the instant feeling of safety. Maybe she would never become as tall as Garry. But she could make herself big enough to help. And that, she could tell from the small smile that was always on his face afterward, seemed to be enough.

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A/N: I think I like this one. Sorry, this is just a short one to get me back into it. I've been busy lately. But I've brainstormed a lot of ideas and I can't wait to find a way to flesh them out.

To all my reviewers so far,

You are absolutely wonderful.

Until next time friendlies.


	5. Bloom

Disclaimer: I do not own Ib.

Title: Bloom

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A red rose.

Ib stared at it as her tall companion held it out to her. He had been smiling happily when he had revealed it to her but as the moment stretched and she did not reach for it, it became strained.

His smile dropped as he retracted his hand, stuttering apologies.

"I'm so sorry! I should have known better than to―Of course you wouldn't want―so stupid. I can't believe I―"

He went silent as she approached him. She slipped the rose out of his hand and brought it up to her chest. She gazed up at him gratefully. The smile returned to his face, though it was a nervous one. He nodded weakly in response. She sat, tugging the sleeve of his jacket to encourage him to sit with her.

He watched her. She sat with her impeccable posture, turning the rose in her hands. A small smile appeared on her face as her thumb absently stroked the stem. She tilted her hand, allowing the rose to slip off of it to the other, now holding it in a single hand. The free hand came up and hovered above the petals, hesitating. He saw her tremble, a barely there motion that he would have missed had he not been sitting so close. The hand remained suspended midair, her whole body so still one could believe she was frozen. Garry moved closer. Next to her, he too hesitated.

After another prolonged moment of deliberation, he moved behind the still frozen child. He pulled her towards him until her body, practically a statue, was against his. He could feel her tense shoulder blades against his chest as she continued staring at the rose.

He shifted, maneuvering to look at her face. Her eyes were on the rose but unfocused, looking at something in the past they shared. He laid his head upon hers, using his chin to tuck her head into the crook of his neck. He rubbed her arms, warming her. She'd gone deathly cold. Though she wore a long sleeve shirt, it offered little comfort from the chilly autumn air.

He allowed her the time she needed to think, regretting giving her the flower in the first place. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Then he continued rubbing her arms and shielded her from the cool breeze with his body. He was glad that he had a naturally warm body as he felt the skin warm beneath the thin fabric of her shirt.

She'd been sitting unmoving for far too long. He allowed his hands to slide down her arms. One of his hands engulfed the one that she used to clutch the stem. The other hand met the back of her still suspended one, large, long fingers weaving between her tiny ones. He reached out, bringing her hand with it. Together they touched the bright red petals, just a slight brush of their fingertips.

He felt the rigidity of her posture ease until she was leaning comfortably against him. He didn't need to look to know that the light of awareness had returned to her eyes. He felt her fingers sandwich his own between them, imploring him to keep his hand pressed against hers, offering comfort and lending strength. He allowed her to move herself this time.

She brought their hands back to the petals, hesitating only a second to let out a shaky breath before placing their hands on the velvety petals. So soft and smooth. Their fingers ran over the curves of the petals and she seemed to finally relax. He lifted his head from the top of hers as she shifted in his lap. He looked down and found himself looking straight at her smiling face. Head upturned towards him, he pressed his lips softly against her forehead.

Her grin widened. A light flush dusted across her cheeks, the color striking against her naturally light skin and the added paleness from the cold. She was happy, so he was happy too.

Her eyes fell upon the rose again. "...too beautiful to be real..."

"Hmm?"

"That's what I thought the first time I saw the red rose in the gallery."

"...I can understand that..." And he could. The vibrant red, soft petals, the bulge of the bud that sloped inward towards the top before curling. It _had_ been beautiful.

She tilted her head up towards him again. He couldn't help the fond smile that overtook his face as he watched her expression shift. A pucker appeared between her brows, lips pursed, and her nose twitched like the bunnies she adored so much. Her thinking face was the most adorable thing he had ever seen. He waited patiently for her to state what was on her mind. Her eyes flicked down to the rose again and she pouted. The endearing image prompted him to hold her tighter.

"Gary?"

"Yes, Ib?"

"Does this rose look more like yours or mine?"

Mirroring Ib's expression, his brows bunched together in confusion.

"Yours?" he stated uncertainly. It was what had come to his mind as he saw it. And it was _red_, not blue. Shouldn't it have been obvious?

Her confused face did not clear.

"Do _you _think it looks more like mine?"

"I'm not sure..."

"Most roses look alike. And it's red," he pointed out.

"Yeah..." she agreed softly.

"But...?" he prompted her.

"It's...bigger," she explained, frowning. That wasn't the word she was looking for.

"Bigger?"

"More...umm..." she tried to find another word. "Open?"

"What do you mean?"

She gestured to the rose, frustratedly. "Yours was shaped like this. Mine was shaped like," she floundered trying to describe it. She held her hands in a teardrop shape. "this."

"Oh! I forgot. Yours was just barely out of the budding stage. This one is in bloom. It's a bit more mature, older, I guess."

"It has more petals than mine, too."

"Yeah, I guess it does." She really was a rather astute child.

"Do you think...that if I was older...my rose would have looked like this? Like yours?"

He blinked in surprise then grinned. "Maybe." It was an interesting thought.

Looking at her, he realized she _had _changed. Just a bit. She had gotten a bit taller. As she leaned against him now, her head lay at the height of his collarbone. He could remember when he met her it had barely reached the bottom of his chest. He hair was longer, just by an inch or two. Her face was less round, though still plump with youth. He entertained the thought that her rose may have looked like the one in her hands if he had met her now. It was in bloom, but still younger, still not as full as the one he had in the gallery. Unbidden, an image flashed in his head. An image of what Ib might look like as she continued to grow. He shook the vision from his head, smiling to reassure the confused girl in his lap that saw the action. The moment ended and the conversation turned to the normal mundane occurances they always talked about.

As she ran off to leave at the end of their visit, he could almost see the image of her older self. A taller, lean figure, graceful as ever. Hair even longer than it was now. The enthusiastic waving he returned from a longer arm with long, elegant fingers. More mature attire in that same trademark red she always wore. And those same unforgettable crimson eyes in a face that had lost the roundness of childhood. He lost sight of her as she turned the corner on her way home.

Garry had always thought of her as adorable. But...

She'd be beautiful when she was older.

* * *

A/N: Please don't kill me for this. I ship IbxGarry so much. I just _had _to write this! I'm not good enough at writing yet to actually write a romance anyway. These little drabbles of mine are not in any particular order. I just really wanted to write something with an inkling towards them being together. I really hope you enjoyed this.

Thanks for your support as always.

Until next time friendlies,

_Dfsemina_


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